


Twice-Changed World

by Quantum_Witch



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Apocalypse, Demons, Drunk Sex, Fanart, Fanwork of Fanwork, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gift Fic, Illustrated, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Masturbation, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slash, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-06
Updated: 2006-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:58:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Witch/pseuds/Quantum_Witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after the world didn't end, a demon and an angel contemplate the rest of their existence on the planet. Then they give that up and seduce one another. What more do you want?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twice-Changed World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vulgarweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Inner Sanctum](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1050) by Vulgarweed. 



> Birthday giftfic for Vulgarweed. Based on the hinted-at scene in italics below, from her fic "Inner Sanctum", which I plot-bunnied and illustrated. Talk about taking collaboration to a ridiculous level.
> 
> See [illustrated version](http://quantum-witch.livejournal.com/42924.html) of this story here.  
> Vulgarweed's original story (also illustrated) found here ["Inner Sanctum"](http://community.livejournal.com/switchythings/542.html) \- **VIEWABLE BY MEMBERS ONLY**

_After all, the world had actually changed for Crowley and Aziraphale twice. Once out there in Lower Tadfield. Then again later in Crowley's bed, where the two of them, drunk on wine and relief, had taken up a most earthly dance-the very oldest one, the one all the others merely suggest, the one that involves skin and whispers, hips and hands, and the sort of playful power struggles no one really loses. And having done that once, one (or two) would be strongly disinclined to stop doing it without a very good reason, which they did not have (and did not look for very hard)._

* * *

They'd had a very nice lunch at the Ritz. They'd made small talk - which for them usually was much bigger talk than any human usually managed, as anything from the food to the chandeliers would spark reminiscing that covered centuries. They'd shared desserts and the knowledge that they were both ridiculously relieved and happy the world still existed, simply by how slowly and carefully they savoured their lunch and their conversation.

And all during this, there was an unvoiced tension. Something vital remained unsettled. Somehow, ineffably, the world had survived and so had they - not much the worse for wear and very likely without jobs or titles or anything to keep them, however blurrily, separated any longer. It bore heavy consideration. And yet neither of them would so much as breathe it aloud. Instead it chafed and writhed about in the backs of their minds, waiting for an opportunity to trip one of their tongues into action.

Now, as they finally stood outside the hotel, Crowley paused before opening the door to the Bentley. He fidgeted a bit, then blurted, "Wanna come back to my place for a drink?"

Aziraphale blinked. "We just had drinks. Two bottles of very nice wine, and sherry after. Rather overdid it for the middle of the day, I thought."

"Sure, yeah. But that's drinks with lunch. I was thinking... you know, drinks... just because they're drinks." It was lame, and they both knew it.

"Hm," Aziraphale mused, watching Crowley carefully for a readable expression and finding none. "All right."

* * *

He'd only been in Crowley's flat a handful of times and none of them for extended visits. It was a cool, almost pristine, environment. The white stark walls blended into white stark furniture of the sort only the trendy jetset would buy and claim was quite comfortable while secretly never being able to sit on it any longer than it took to have their photographs taken for fashionable magazines featuring home décor of the rich and famous.

All this was offset in a rather bizarre way by the sheer volume of lustrous plants which, the first time he'd seen it, had struck Aziraphale as a dicotomy. He'd attempted to analyse this as being a subconcious desire on Crowley's part to return to either Eden or Heaven. Crowley had shoved him out of the flat and refused to speak to him for weeks after.

Now Crowley took his coat as they entered the pointedly neither-Heavenly-nor-Eden-like flat, hanging it along with his own. He waved his hand to play a bit of classical music as he walked through the sitting room and over to the bar near the kitchen. Without asking what Aziraphale wanted, he returned to the couch with two bottles of wine and two glasses in hand. He tossed his sunglasses onto the coffee table, flopped down onto the couch, motioned for Aziraphale to join him, then proceeded to drink.

A bit wary, Aziraphale sat down and took a glass for himself. He watched Crowley get silently, steadily, drunk and barely realised he was accomplishing the same thing. Glass in hand, bottle on table in front, refilling, drinking. That inevitably led to drunkenness, that did.

Crowley still wasn't speaking when he loosened his tie. Nor did he speak when he kicked off his boots. They went sailing across the room and nearly broke the glass front of the slick black stereo cabinet. He giggled lightly then. "Whoops," he said and curled up his legs. One knee up, arm propped over it and holding his half-full glass, he was the image of casual coolness. He coolly stretched the other arm along the back of the couch and casually slurred, "Sssso... whaddawe do now?" All the while he was clenched tightly from head to toe.

Aziraphale eyed the arm that vanished behind his head with cautious interest. "Whad'we do 'bout what, dear?"

"'Bout life. Un'verse. An'thing."

"...Don't think it's ours t'do anything _with_."

"No, it's Damnan's... Adam's. Hah. Can't do bugg'rall, can we? Bugg'rit all up, anyway," Crowley sighed and drank again, and then closed his eyes. "But I wanna... wanna do things anyway."

"Like... what?" Aziraphale asked rather breathlessly. He could feel his face getting flushed, and knew it wasn't just the alcohol.

"Like... whaddever... you mi'wanna do... 'fya wanna... dooo anything..." Crowley winced at himself, almost ashamed of how pathetic he sounded.

This was the moment, obviously. They'd been dancing around it all afternoon. Hell, they'd virtually been gavotting about it for centuries. And now, the day after the world hadn't ended, after all they'd been through, they both knew not so deep down that the best thing to do with the world was to _enjoy_ it - utterly, thoroughly, in every possible way they could manage, from now on.

But somebody had to make a move.

Aziraphale did it. His hand tentatively landed on Crowley's thigh, gave a gentle squeeze.

Crowley opened his eyes, looked straight at the angel, and then lunged.

Their mouths collided badly, sloppily, which Crowley decided to blame on being drunk. After a moment or two of restlessly sliding around and gasping, they settled into a decent enough rhythm that it was truly enjoyable, and they spent several more minutes getting well acquainted with each other's tonsils.

Crowley was mostly on top of Aziraphale now, unaware of anything but the lips and tongue and teeth that battled with his own. Until a warm soft hand made its way into his somehow unbuttoned shirt and a thumbnail scratched a nipple. With a deep animal grunt, he bit down on a lip, heard a heated whimper, and pulled far enough away to see Aziraphale's face.

The angel was half-lying on the couch, all flushed and flustered, hair mussed, bowtie crushed at his throat, and an amazing expression of desperate lust across his features. Crowley thought he'd seen Aziraphale's entire facial repertoire after six thousand years, but this was a new one. He gave a weak gasp of desire, and leapt to his feet, dragging Aziraphale off the couch and toward the stairs to his bedroom.

Fumbling and stumbling upward, they kept thumping into the walls while somehow managing to shed bits of clothing and continue kissing and nibbling at one another. As they reached the bedroom door, Crowley finally got Aziraphale's jumper off over his head when the angel grabbed him fiercely by the neck and brought their mouths back together in a bruising kiss. It caught him off balance, and he wasn't sure if he fell against the wall or if Aziraphale slammed him, but he found himself pinned by the angel's weight. It wasn't so bad because Aziraphale seemed to have discovered the art of grinding his hips against Crowley's. Not the most skillful of grinding, but still pleasant enough to have Crowley moaning and squeezing the angel's round arse covetously.

A few moments of that, and Crowley twisted fiercely enough to push them both away from the wall. Three strides and they were falling onto the bed, still grappling like ancient wrestlers, clearly aiming for the naked and oiled state one would expect of such activity. Crowley succeeded in keeping himself mostly on top, one arm curled under Aziraphale's neck, fingers digging into the angel's shoulder while he held his face in place with only his busy mouth. Aziraphale fought, not quite enough to convince Crowley that he meant it but his fingers were playing rough, tearing at Crowley's shirt tail, pulling at his trousers, destroying the zipper. Crowley's free hand had already ripped the buttons off Aziraphale's shirt and was now making its way across Aziraphale's chest, tweaking the nipples and sucking up the angel's moans, drunk more on them than on any amount of wine.

When Aziraphale's hand found what it was seeking in Crowley's trousers, the demon groaned long and deep, panting in desperation. His hand started downward as well, struggling to undo the angel's pants while being heartily stroked, and was totally unable to coordinate himself. Aziraphale let go briefly, making Crowley whine, undid his zipper, took Crowley's wandering hand and shoved it down. Crowley whimpered even harder, his fingers closing reflexively, shuddering with almost painful lust as Aziraphale's hand returned to ardent work.

Still trying desperately to kiss one another, they grasped and slid and pulled and humped against one another feverishly. Muttered words of perverse endearment escaped their mouths, and legs tangled like choking vines. Fingertips created furrows against back and shoulder, teeth bit lips and neck. Hips bucked madly toward one another, cocks sliding in one another's slick hands. A single choked shout came from the demon, his body clenched and his hand stopped moving as, grunting and gasping, he filled the angel's hand with thick, hot wetness. But the angel was not to be ignored, and thrust wildly into the demon's still fisted hand, pressing himself onward with a hoarse cry, overtaken by the same sweet, sharp tremours.

Minutes passed as they lay there, tangled and sweaty, loins molten with exhaustion, arms dangling limply upon one another. And, while sober, feeling drunk with uncountable other sensations.

Crowley whispered against Aziraphale's damp forehead, "…Fuck..."

Aziraphale grunted in assent. "Close enough for now."

A few moments to recover themselves, and Crowley wiggled his sticky fingertips at their ruined clothes, vanishing them (and tidying up the worst of the mess). He then wiggled himself a bit further up. The arm that had held Aziraphale's head in place now curled gently underneath, fingers stroking through the angel's wet hair, which was reverting to curls. This conveniently placed his face too far above for Aziraphale to see, and he was sure that the angel would realise it but not complain. For the moment, anyway.

"That was quite... something," he said softly.

"Hm, yes, very descriptive." The tone was teasing.

"We'd best update the parameters of the Arrangement," said Crowley. "That was not just business as usual."

"Oh?" Aziraphale responded blithely. "An update? So this isn't just a one-time thing?"

Crowley's other hand, which had been absently stroking Aziraphale's chest, reached over and pinched a nipple rather hard. He was rewarded with a mock cry of pain which devolved into a soft moan. Nether bits were suddenly getting twitchy again. So Crowley flung his leg over Aziraphale's and pulled him even closer.

Muttering against the pale hair, he said, "If the world decides to end again, let's make sure we don't show up and just spend it here, shagging like bunnies. 'Kay?"

Aziraphale's heart skipped just a bit, which was odd. But it felt nice at the same time. "Yes," he said softly, "I do believe we've earned that."

A moment of thoughtful silence. "So... whose side do we blame or thank for this turn of events? I mean, I can't say I'm entirely responsible for seducing an angel if it was mutual, right? And I don't think you were exactly concentrating on my redemption."

Grinning against Crowley's collarbone, Aziraphale said, "No, if I was thinking at all, it was along the lines of delicious, blissful indulgence."

"Sounds like dessert. Next time I'll grab a dish of crème brûlée on the way up here."

"Won't that make things even stickier?"

"That's the point. Well part of the point. The rest of the point I'll be happy to demonstrate, don't worry."

Another brief silence as Aziraphale's fingertips lightly caressed Crowley's hand, which lay over his heart.

"You do know," Crowley lowered his voice with a hint of a threat, or a promise, "next time there will absolutely be penetration."

The grin was clear in Azirphale's voice. "Yes, dear, and I'll be buggered if I don't have my way with you."

The demon gave a soft laugh. They both knew that every time would be the same delightful power struggle, one which would keep them intrigued and very well-fucked.

"That's all well and good. Or bad, or whatever. But for now..." Crowley yawned. "'M gonna be a stereotypical man." And he curled up a bit tighter around the angel's soft warmth and began to drift off. Further physical and/or metaphysical ramifications could be discussed when he was awake. Not that he was worried. He had seen the look of adoration mingled with lust in the angel's eyes. The bait had been taken. Temptation had never been easier.

Aziraphale smiled, contented and sated, and just a bit sweaty, but he didn't mind at all. He would endure a minor amount of discomfort for Crowley's sake. The sleeping demon's face had relaxed, and the expression of peace made him seem almost angelic again. He really could be rather darling when he wanted to.

Lying there, pinned to the bed by his attractive demonic companion-now-lover, Aziraphale wondered vaguely if there would be retribution for their actions. No, he rather doubted it. Something about the way Adam Young had looked at them yesterday, something about the way he'd said, "_I know all about you two. Don't you worry..."_ Yes, they were probably – mostly - safe, so long as they were finally – mostly – honest with one another. They'd already taken forever working up to this point, so it was About Damned Time.

* * *

A few hours later, Crowley awoke slowly, now on his back and the angel no longer in his arms.

But there was the delectable feeling of an oiled finger slowly moving deep inside him and a hot, wet mouth around his very happy cock.

This was a much better Arrangement than it had ever been before.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not republish or distribute this story, in whole or in part, anywhere else without my permission.


End file.
